In Sickness and In Health
by CTMfan-13
Summary: Season 3 Turners...before the wedding.


It's the smell of fresh tea and toast that wakes him from his dreams, bringing him out of the bedroom to the kitchen.

"Shelagh...what are you doing here?"

His fiance turned from where she was busy washing the dishes in the sink and smiled at him, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm making breakfast and packing lunch like I always do."

"When did you get here? You ought to be in bed. You're still ill, my love."

"I appreciate your concern, Patrick. But honestly, I'm fi-" she halts mid-sentence as her body violently begins shaking while she coughs.

He rushes to her side, handing over a glass of water and rubbing calming circles between her shoulder blades until she calms, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"As I was saying...you ought to be in bed. You're ill, my love. I'll drive you back to Mrs. Wilson's when I take Timothy to school."

"Patrick, I don't want Timothy to come back to an empty flat."

"It's just for the day, Shelagh. I'm sure he won't mind." He continues to rub her back soothingly.

"I mind." she responds, softly. "Patrick, I don't want him to be alone."

Patrick sighs, reading between the lines of what Shelagh said.

"You can stay, but only if you promise to rest. If I come back to find you've been cleaning, I'll..."

Shelagh smirks at him. "You'll what?"

He leans down to her level, smirking right back at her. "No kisses before the wedding."

"Liar." She narrows her eyes at him in amusement.

"I mean it, Shelagh."

"Fine." she giggled. "If I can stay...no cleaning."

"You can always stay, love." He led her to the table. "Now, sit down and rest. I'll finish up here."

An hour later, Patrick and Timothy are both out of the house, lunches in hand. Shelagh lasts all of twenty minutes before she breaks her promise to Patrick by sorting and doing some laundry. _'Laundry isn't cleaning'_ she thinks to herself, trying to make her actions acceptable.

She stops suddenly as her hands find a familiar fabric, intimately knowing the feel, weight and scent of what she's holding. Patrick's pajama top. She smiles to herself as she lifts the fabric to her face, inhaling the comforting aroma of her fiancé.

That was the real reason she'd come over this morning. She didn't want to be alone. She'd spent too much time being alone and sick as it was. Months and months on her own in that dreaded sanatorium, all the while wishing that Patrick was with her. She'd almost wished he could have stayed home from work, although she would never ask it of him.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, she decides to take his advice and rest. She slips her cardigan off her shoulders, placing it on the chair she has tentatively been calling 'hers', and slides her arms into his pajama top. Immediately relaxing, she moves to the settee and lays down, fingers lightly rubbing the lapel as she had before Christmas. His scent surrounding her, she gives in to the haze of her illness and finds herself falling asleep on the sofa within moments.

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Having a relatively light afternoon, Patrick decided to leave the office early and head back to the flat to check on Shelagh. Her cough that morning concerned him, but he didn't want to be overbearing by staying home and watching her every move to ensure her health. If he could have, he would have insisted she laid in his- _soon to be their_ \- bed and waited on her hand, foot and finger.

He let himself into the flat quietly, hoping to catch Shelagh off-guard, most likely in the act of cleaning that she had promised she wouldn't do. He's glad he does, as he steps into the living room and finds her asleep on the sofa- in his pajama top. He looks around the room and takes everything in: laundry folded, shirts ironed and sorted into piles for himself and Timothy. He smiles to himself, realizing that she must have tired herself out before putting away the evidence.

He kneels next to her, brushing his knuckles lightly over her cheek, checking for a fever as he does so. She stirs slightly, inhaling deeply before fluttering her eyes open and smiling at him.

"Hello."

"Greetings."

"I thought I said no cleaning..."

She blushes at his teasing, and he decides he will never tire of making the color rise in her cheeks.

"Laundry isn't cleaning."

"Hmm...I hope this isn't a preview of your stubbornness when we're married."

She sighs, sitting upright. "And if it is?"

Patrick sits next to her, lifting his arm for her to lean into his side. "Well, seeing you in my pajama top certainly does soften the blow." He takes in her appearance before asking. "How long have you been asleep?"

"Oh, erm-" she glances at her watch, eyes widening. "About two hours, I suppose."

"Darling, why did you not go and lie down in bed?"

The blush that graced her cheeks earlier pales in comparison to the one she wears now.

"You'll think me silly."

"I would never. Tell me?"

"Well...other than the fact that it's your bedroom-"

"Our bedroom soon enough, Shelagh."

"That's just it, Patrick. I don't want to be in there unless it's us...together. Does that make sense?"

Patrick feels his heart burst with adoration, unaware that he could love her more than he already does.

"That's not silly...to be honest, it would have driven me crazy knowing you were lying in our bed without me. Even if you are ill..."

Shelagh nuzzled into his side, letting out a giggle.

"How are you feeling, love? Still tired?"

"A bit...but I'm fine. Did you want some lunch?"

"No...I think I'd rather sit here with my favorite patient." He leans down, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I thought the doctor said no kisses if I cleaned..."

He smirked at her teasing, something he was still not used to, never knowing if he ever would be.

"Well...according to my future wife, _laundry isn't cleaning_." He leaned towards her lips, waiting for her to meet him halfway.

"Sounds like she knows what she's talking about..." she giggles, leaning up to meet him.

She relaxed further into his side, fully cocooned in his scent and touch even more so than she could have dreamed all those months ago.

"I'm never getting this back, am I?" Patrick asks, fingering the sleeve of his pajama top.

Shelagh sighs, nuzzling into his shoulder. "No, dearest. Probably not."


End file.
